


We Are Iron Man

by Scappodaqui



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bad Puns, Civil War Cancelled Due to Triathlon, Companionable Snark, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Iron Man triathlon, M/M, Only partially AOU-compliant, Pietro Maximoff Lives, Puns & Word Play, Science Bros, Sports, Tony Stark's midlife crisis, we pretend BruceNat never happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6085482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scappodaqui/pseuds/Scappodaqui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Men's Health Magazine challenges Tony to complete an <i>actual</i> Iron Man triathlon, Tony Stark convinces most of the Avengers to join him. </p><p>It's for charity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Iron Man

**Author's Note:**

> It helps if you've read [Men's Health Interviews Steve Rogers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3818749/chapters/8513683).  
> Also, you can find Tony training for the Iron Man [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4559427). Along with an Alan Turing cameo.  
> Thanks to [cabloom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cabloom) for the beta.

It all began when Steve mentioned offhandedly that he’d leave the Iron Man triathlon up to Tony Stark.

Suddenly Sam Wilson got a call from the magazine asking first, was he amenable to an interview (yes), and second, could he confirm that Tony Stark would indeed be competing in Iron Man Kona?

“Who told you that?” asked Sam.

“Captain--ah, Captain Rogers gave us that information.”

Sam was not one to contradict Steve Rogers. “Then I guess Tony’s doing an Iron Man,” he said.

* * *

 “Pepper. You know me. I’ve never given a nonsarcastic interview in my life. They said Iron Man, I said Iron Man, ha ha, very funny, it was a pun. We talked about all things iron-related. Pumping iron. It’s Men’s Health magazine.”

“Yes, but it’s been corroborated by two independent sources.”

“I know it’s trending on Twitter. I invented Twitter. Well, I invented the algorithms that the guys who invented Twitter--look, all right, how long does it take you to train for one of those triathlon thingies anyway? Six weeks, tops?”

“Tony.” Pepper aimed a look of fraying tolerance his way. “If you hadn’t noticed me getting out of bed at five-thirty in the morning for the past--”

“Fine, fine, so it’s been a busy, what, six weeks--”

“Six months, at least. And I was already doing spin class.”

“I knew that.” He pointed at her like a child triumphant about an answer in class, and she let one corner of her mouth twitch upwards into a smile. “I knew about the spin class.”

“And yet you’ve never, not one time, chosen to attend.”

“I get itchy watching the wasted watts. Now there’s a clean-energy plan. Harness the power they voo-doo out of you in Soul Cycle. We won’t need arc reactor technology anymore, we’ll all be fueled by the neuroses of Park Avenue housewi--ow.”

“Clint comes to my spin class.”

“Clint will try anything once.”

Pepper paused, stymied. “Do I want to know?”

“I don’t think I want to know myself.”

“Look, Tony, I actually think it would be a savvy move, image-wise, to try this thing.”

“What, tri a triathlon? Try a tri, hm, they say there is only do or do not, there is no try. Maybe that’s the Jedi. I guess Jedi don’t do triathlons. You think it would be good for my image?”

“Yes, I do. You could raise money for charity, for instance. That would be the ‘philanthropist’ part of your billionaire… playboy…”

“Ex-playboy.”

“Fair.”

“I could donate money directly. Why does running, biking, and swimming… how is that not more about ‘look at me, look at me’ than just quietly giving money to the people who really need it?”

“Since when do you have a problem with ‘look at me’?”

“Point.”

“These sorts of events were designed for people like you. People who want to look impressive and altruistic at the same time.”

“Ouch, Pep, hitting me where it really hurts.”

“You could do a Half Iron Man. Sort of ease in.”

“My name is Iron Man. I can’t do a _half_ Iron Man.”

“Have you noticed,” Pepper informed him, “that you’re now arguing in favor of doing the full Iron Man triathlon?”

He stopped, mouth open, one hand upraised as if to contradict her again, and then let it drop. “Apparently it’s in Hawaii.”

“I hear Hawaii is lovely that time of year.”

“Hawaii’s lovely every time of year.”

“Shall I reach out to the Kona race directors and let them know Stark Industries is willing to put together a team?”

“Oh, forget Stark Industries,” Tony said. “I’m thinking the Avengers. Steve told that interviewer I’m doing this thing? Fine, let him deal with it, too.”

* * *

 “You have to do it.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Steve said.

“You volunteered me to do the thing, so you have to do the thing.”

“It wouldn’t be fair for me to compete against people without enhanced abilities.”

“So be a pacer. It’s for charity. Listen, you’re not the one who’s going to have to train, don’t you run marathons every day anyway?”

“What’s this about marathons?” Bucky wandered into the room, rubbing idly at his metal arm with his good arm. Tony would’ve bet several thousand dollars he’d already been listening around the corner.

“Steve is doing an Iron Man triathlon with me.”

“I am not.”

“It’s for charity,” Tony insisted. He turned to appeal to Barnes. “For example, the Starktech prosthetics program would get a boost from the exposure. And you’d get to see your boyfriend in a wetsuit.”

“What’s the difference between a wetsuit and his regular suit?”

“A wetsuit is wetter.”

“Tony,” Steve said.

“You started it.”

“Fine,” Steve said. “I’ll think about it. Let me think about it.”

“Sam’s going to do it.”

“Of course Sam is going to do it. Don’t let him fool you, he’s competitive.”

* * *

 “Hell yes I’m doing the Iron Man,” Sam said. “Iron Falcon. In all seriousness, I know some people from the VA who would be interested in their own team, if that doesn’t encroach on your plans.”

“Not at all,” Tony said.

“My sister might want to do it.”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah, she runs with a club.”

“Sure, why not, the more the merrier.”

“What time were you thinking of aiming for?” Sam asked, trying and failing to look casual.

“I have no idea,” Tony said, ignoring JARVIS’s attempt at helpfully estimating a number through his earpiece. He clenched his teeth. “I just want to have fun out there.”

“Have you trained? I’m going to have to ramp up my swimming, I’ve been doing all dry-land training lately, keeping up with your suit designs. But I used to be able to knock out five hundred yards in under seven minutes.”

“Impressive,” Tony said, like he had any context; JARVIS helpfully informed him of the world record in the event, as well as his own predicted time of twenty minutes but “a projected 20% improvement if you put your head underwater, sir.”

* * *

 Natasha said, “Ha, no.”

“No? I would have thought you’d enjoy showing up the rest of us.”

“Someone needs to pay attention to security with the rest of the team out on the course.”

“Are you sure--”

“Yes.”

* * *

 Some of the Avengers were more amenable to peer pressure.

“I will not even train for this,” Pietro declared. “It would be not fair to the rest of them.”

“Sure, great. How’s the new outfit working out?”

“I like the bulletproof feature. Very important.”

“Ah. Right. Right, yeah.”

“This Iron Man triathlon is definitely in Hawaii and not Tahiti, yes?”

“Definitely. No question about it.”

“And no traps or Hydra or anything like that?”

“Probably not. Your sister could help us confirm, she’s handy that way. Does she want to join the team?”

“Wanda!”

“Da?”

They talked to each other in Sokovian for a moment and then Wanda turned to Tony. “Swimming? And bicycling? And running?”

“You’re not into it?”

“I don’t know how to bicycle. We couldn’t afford a bicycle growing up. Only money for one wheel.”

“Yes,” Pietro said. “Two of us on, what is it called. Unicycle. We didn’t even have handlebars.”

“Are you kidding?” Tony asked.

They exchanged a look.

“Okay,” he said. “So Pietro’s in, Wanda’s out?”

“No, I will do it,” Wanda said, after some pondering. “Clint has told me that he and Natasha are covering security, so I think it could be possible.”

“Hey, you already knew--”

“I have powers.”

“How did Barton already know?”

“He was listening to your conversation from inside your ceiling.”

“Dammit, Clint.”

“You’re not going to beat me,” Pietro told his sister. “You would have to cheat.”

She made a noncommittal face. “Maybe you should train to make sure. Your swimming is terrible, for example, you should come swimming.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Now Wanda was eyeing Tony with a half-smile, because clearly this performance was for his benefit alone.

“Because of my hair,” Pietro said at length, rolling his eyes. “Because it ruins my hair.”

“The man has priorities,” Tony said.

* * *

 “Why do you think he didn’t ask me to do the thing?” Bucky said. He lounged on their kitchen counter next to the sink, one knee drawn into his chest, idly peeling potatoes until their skins fell away in long curling spirals, to trail delicately down into the garbage he’d pulled up beneath him. He tossed each potato behind him into the water-filled bowl in the sink without bothering to look, then grabbed the next.

“What thing?” Steve said absently, craning around from where he’d bent over to search the refrigerator. “Do we have cream, because--”

“If we have it,” Bucky said, “it’s in there somewhere, I swear to God, Steve, you’re terrible at finding things.”

“Maybe the cream is really good at hiding.”

Bucky groaned; Steve heard a potato plunk into the bowl with more than usual force, then pushed aside the carton of vitamin-fortified orange juice to find the heavy cream.

“Found it,” he said, standing up again and turning around.

“Good. Now cook the onions in butter. Then give me a suckjob.”

“You’re holding a knife, I’m not going to say no.”

Bucky just murmured agreement, not even looking up from the neat spiral of his knife on potato--though Steve was well aware he didn’t need to look. His dangling leg drummed hollowly against the cabinets under the marble shelf he sat on. Steve turned to him once the onions spat and sizzled on the stove, bracing his hands on his hips.

“Wait a minute, Buck, what thing?”

“Well, gimme a second and I’ll show you.”

“No, not that. I meant before, what were you talking about?”

“Stark’s thing.”

“The triathlon?”

“Yeah.” Another potato over his shoulder and into the sink with a neat splash. The large stainless-steel bowl was almost full now, potatoes nestled in water that dripped slowly over the edge into the sink. Steve walked up to Bucky and leaned forward over the garbage. The green, dirty smell of potato peelings filled his nose. It could’ve been any of any number of days seventy-five years ago. He ran a hand over Bucky’s knee and up his leg, and Bucky put down the potato he’d just hefted. The spud almost rolled off the wooden cutting board, but he casually skewered it in place with the knife, then edged closer to Steve until he’d got his legs on either side of his body.

“I don’t know,” he said, wiping his flesh hand off idly on his own pants and then brushing his fingers through Steve’s hair, shaking his head back and forth a little. “He doesn’t want me on the Avengers team?”

“He’s fine with you on the actual Avengers team. I think he just didn’t want to push for… public relations. That sort of--you know how he is about that, I think he thinks you want privacy.”

“My public relations are fine. Thirty percent of America thinks my acquittal was the right thing to do. And that was before you said you wanted to go on Project Runway. I bet it’s higher now.”

“I told you, the Project Runway part was Tony.”

“It’s a good show. I like it. They should do one like that, but with assassins. Do you know how many ways you can kill someone in a pet store? Ten-dollar budget, even. They did the pet store episode… they did the florist’s… I think I did something in a florist’s shop one time but I don’t remember.”

Steve’s brow wrinkled and Bucky shook him gently by the hair, then ran his fingers down over his jaw.

“Hey. Stevie. I was joking.”

“I know.”

“C’mere.”

Steve did.

“Oh, shit,” he said, some time later. “The onions are burnt.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

They left the potatoes in the sink for awhile, though they did turn off the stove before setting off Tony’s high-tech smoke alarm, and retreated to the couch.

“What we’re going to do,” Bucky said, from his position sprawled entirely on top of Steve, face buried into the crook of his neck, “is… what’re we going to do, Steve?”

“Tell Tony you’re up for the Iron Man thing. You can be a pacer for some of Sam’s vets.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“I have great ideas.”

“Yeah, but you’re a lousy cook.”

“I got distracted.”

* * *

 “Of course Barnes can do it,” Tony said. “It’ll be an excellent chance to test the underwater handling of that arm. The original alloy was way too heavy.”

“I still dragged Steve’s ass out of the Potomac,” Bucky pointed out from his seat at the much-abused Avengers conference table. He had one booted foot propped up next to his cup of coffee. Bucky, Steve noticed, appeared to need to inhabit every room he entered. He’d been well-mannered and poised before the war, but he’d slowly unraveled during, barely able to keep a straight face when they’d met with Phillips. Now he seemed happy to indulge in public irreverence.

It was because, Bucky said, being the Winter Soldier was half intimidating--for which maneuvers like taking up space were useful--and half rigid adherence to instruction--which made him want never to follow protocol again. Why do you, he had asked Steve, always stand around like you’re at parade rest? You look like a jackass.

Steve had no answer for that. He was Captain America. That was how Captain America stood.

“Are you planning on training?” Sam said, leaning forward onto one elbow in a way Steve knew he only did when he was trying to restrain himself from saying something.

“Yes, I plan on training. I have designed an extremely time-efficient training guide meant to optimize by maximal oxygen uptake in minimal time. Thank you for asking. Also, yes, probably you should teach me how to swim.”

“You don’t know how to swim?”

“I know how to swim. I can, in theory, move through water. I’ve been scuba diving with models in Malibu, all right? At least, I think it was Malibu. Maybe Australia. Great reefs. Beautiful water. But I do not, strictly speaking, know any strokes but the breast stroke.”

“Ha, ha,” Natasha said.

“Has anyone told you that it’s exceedingly offputting when you actually say the words ha ha instead of laughing?”

“Not to my face.”

“I’m very brave. May I continue? Thank you.” Tony waved a hand and the screens in front of each of the room’s inhabitants flashed brightly to life. “Pepper has informed me that we ought to work with as many charities as possible, so I’ve put together a list. Each of you will want to pick one, then solicit your own sponsors. I take it the entire point of the Iron Man triathlon, if you’re not trying to win--which we are not--is to raise money for your charity of choice. So the real winner is, you know, America.”

“America,” Bucky said fervently, putting one hand over his heart and looking at Steve. Steve snorted.

* * *

 “I can’t help but notice that you haven’t chosen your charity of choice yet,” Tony told Bruce over the hum of lab machinery and the distant gurgle of coffee in the percolator.

“Can you imagine what would happen if the Other Guy came out on the course?” Bruce said quietly, still hunched over the table. Tony slouched back on his tall stool and rolled his stiff neck on his shoulders. An hour hunched on a bicycle huffing and puffing had not helped, not when he had to spend the rest of the day working on the ultralight ‘smart’ fabric he’d be using in his wetsuit.

“Come on, it’s been at least two months since we had an incident,” he protested.

“Thanks for the sentiment with that ‘we’, but the onus is on me.” Bruce contemplated the far wall. “Yes. It’s been seventy-three days.”

“Great, here’s your seventy-three day chip. Let’s all give you a round of golf claps and drink some crappy coffee in a Church basement.” Tony did as he had indicated, clapping and then twirling on his stool to avoid Bruce’s glare. He caught himself neatly on the edge of the lab table and straightened. “You’ll be fine. It’ll be a goodwill gesture. Frankly, Bruce, the people want to see more of you. You know I don’t like to take risks--”

“That’s debatable,” Bruce said.

“Look, things that appear to be risks when others take them are in my case extremely carefully calculated--I take calculated risks--”

“You seem a little wound up about this triathlon.”

“Do you want me to be honest with you?”

“Please, go ahead. By the way, I highly recommend a little tree pose for that neck.”

“Damn it with the yoga, Bruce, I’m telling you… okay, tree pose?”

“Like this.”

“Hm.” Tony nearly overbalanced and toppled to one side.

“Slowly. Focus on the breath.”

“Hmph.”

“When we get to be a certain age, you know, we can’t keep up with the younger--”

“They’re enhanced. I’m a perfect physical specimen. This is the kind of thing I’m--listen--” His upraised foot dropped from where it had been propped against his knee and Tony shook his head, bracing his hands on the table. “Forget it.”

“Ah,” Bruce said, sitting back on his stool and folding his arms. “I see where this is coming from.”

“Where what’s coming from?”

“This.” Bruce’s gesture took in Tony’s rather cramped stance and the bottle of vitamins on the table next to his elbow. “This is a midlife crisis.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s very common. You have less to do, fewer international disasters. Pepper’s managing the company. It’s a common enough psychological phenomenon. Displacement activity given your anxiety over your legacy, your mortality. A different man would decide to reproduce, but you….”

“I thought you weren’t this kind of doctor.”

“I’m starting to cave to the pressure. You’ve confided enough in me over the years that I think I’ve taken on the role you want me to take on. Is it called transference? Countertransference? I don’t know… because, like I’ve said, I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“What kind, psychotherapist slash BFF slash science bro?”

“Science bro?”

“That’s the terminology I read in the Huffington Post. Not generally speaking a credible news source, but great for the heartwarming stuff when they’re not lambasting me for being a merchant of death with an obvious atonement complex and all.” He paused and looked at Bruce with one eyebrow raised, and was rewarded with nothing more than a shrug. Tony sighed. “Okay. Look. I have faith in you. The American people have some degree of faith in you, especially since seventy-three days ago was not a public event. And Natasha is very sorry that the prank war escalated to that point.”

“It was an inventive use of the new holograms,” Bruce said. “Actually, I thought we could discuss that as potential defensive--”

“Sure, sure, later. First I want to hear more about your theory about why this is clearly a midlife crisis, and if it is, why you aren’t joining me in countertransference-land and having one right alongside me? It’ll be fun. Listen.”

Bruce was shaking his head.

“No, listen. First of all, swimming is very relaxing. It’s amniotic. It’s primordial. We all evolved from fish, it’ll get you into a meditative state, like a sensory deprivation chamber. I tried putting my head underwater the other day, it was great. Sound carries incredibly underwater, I finally understand--experientially rather than theoretically--how Aquaman could call all those fish from so far away. Speaking of unlikely superheroes, you know Scott and Hope are in on this? Well, Scott says he’s doing a sprint tri, but that’s because, you know, size-appropriate… no one cares if Ant Man does the shorter version. Hope qualified for Kona on her own and she’s raising money for some Women in STEM initiative. You could do that, you know.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you even listening?”

“Sure.”

“You’re doing that thing where you just nod at me.”

“Mhm.”

“You know, I don’t treat everyone as a parental figure slash therapist. I treat some people as pathetic underlings. You should be grateful.”

“Mhm.”

“That’s becoming very irritating.”

“Well, luckily, _you_ becoming irritated doesn’t cause any international disasters. Oh, wait. Except that one time.”

“I want to submit that I was not in my right mind due to quasi-supernatural intervention.”

“Look, Tony, I appreciate that you want me to be a part of your quest for whatever it is you’re questing for. Charity donations.”

“Thank you for recognizing my fundamental altruism in this.”

“But I just don’t feel comfortable participating in such a high-stakes environment. Thousands of people around, spectators… I can help Natasha and Clint with security. I’d be happy to do that.”

“Aw. Aw, come on, Bruce, look up. Look, I’m doing the puppy eyes. Pepper can’t resist these.”

“I’m genuinely worried, Tony.”

“Running is calming, too. There’s this zen-like flow state you reach, apparently. That’s the only reason Rogers hasn’t gone off his already unstable rocker, you know, personal opinion there. Endocannabinoids get released, it’s like smoking marijuana complete with the munchies afterwards, except these are justifiable munchies. Seriously, my calorie burn yesterday earned me a double cheeseburger. Not health-optimal, I know, but I respond well to concrete incentives and I’m not hitting the booze these days, so burgers it is.”

“I’m glad you’ve found, uh, balance.”

“I’m appealing to your vanity here.”

“I’m not really a burger guy.”

“Not a lot of double cheeseburgers in Kolkata?”

“You could say that.”

“Because you know, I figured Doctors Without Borders would be a shoo-in for your charity of choice. You could raise a lot of money, Bruce. I mean, people would tune in to your journey just for the suspense angle, too. Will he or won’t he?”

“Not exactly inspiring confidence…”

“Okay. I’ll let it go.”

They worked in silence for a moment, Tony bent determinedly forward in his best serious-scientist posture. Bruce quickly submerged himself in concentration as well, only to surface when Tony shifted and squinted at a holographic display in the middle of the table.

“Really?”

Tony looked at him, affronted. “Yes, really. I let it drop. I’m being mature about this.”

“Huh.”

“It’s just… I need your help.”

“With what?”

“It’s Steve. His damn YouTube endorsement video has four hundred thousand hits already and he just posted it yesterday. There’s foul play afoot.”

“Sir,” chimed in JARVIS, “The post in question has in fact attained six hundred thirty-eight thousand hits at this time.”

“Unique hits?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Damn it. It’s bad enough the guy runs circles around me with his bionic boyfriend and insanely fit for a normal--JARVIS, remind me to refit Wilson for the suit again, will you? I want a biceps measurement this time.”

“Sir, I believe Mr. Wilson’s biceps measure exactly--”

“I don’t believe you, I want it in writing.”

“You know, Tony, sometimes you can’t be the best at everything.”

“I know that. That’s why I usually only do things I know I can be the best at. Which the Iron Man is not.”

“And it’s killing you?”

“It’s killing me. Sam had to teach me how to swim the other day. The man has the patience of a saint. No wonder Rhodey told me I’d never survive boot camp. That was Sam’s nice side, and I still wanted to drown myself, only he wouldn’t let me.”

“I thought you liked swimming.”

“I do. You should try it sometime.”

“You just don’t give up.”

“No I do not. Hey, what should I do to make my endorsement jazzier? Not jazzier--wow, that bit of vernacular shows my age, woof, even I can recognize that. But listen, I’m up against a ninety-eight-year-old.”

“You’ll think of something.”

“At least join me for a few workouts. A swim… a run. I’ll do yoga with you.”

“Really?”

“Sure. So I was thinking: music video….”

* * *

 “Smile,” Bucky told Steve, deadpan behind the camera. Steve groaned.

“This reminds me of the USO.”

“There was not a damn thing wrong with the USO show even if Donald Trump did steal the outfits.”

Steve had written a strongly-worded op-ed for the New York Times on the topic. Trump had, in return, called Steve out for his obvious communist sympathies. Bucky had, in return, made a public statement in favor of democracy and gun control. He had been unable to restrain himself from adding that Trump himself ought to embrace gun control, because if he were elected, he knew at least six people who might have him assassinated.

The ensuing furor had been thoroughgoing. Three separate government intelligence agencies had insisted on questioning Bucky about the identity of the six would-be Trump assassins. Bucky had submitted to several polygraph sessions, only to point out that he could easily evade polygraph detection. The FBI agent had actually allowed himself to be charmed into an intriguing discussion of just how to get around the machine and what interrogation techniques might be preferable. Bucky had even rather affably shared some of the workings of the metal arm with the CIA agent.

Donald Trump had then hired a protection detail recommended by the Avengers. Trump had specifically asked for Natasha Romanov as consult. Natasha had shrugged and agreed, in the name of long experience with ludicrous demagogues.

She appreciated the principle of democracy, if not always the practical outcome. Also, she took as many embarrassing yet dispassionate pictures of Trump as she could, and threatened to remove his wig if he so much as made a sexual overture.

* * *

 Sam tried to wrangle all of them into swimming lessons. Pietro still refused to train with any of them, preferring instead to set up an ostentatious lounge chair and examine his competition from afar. Every so often, Sam would look up and find the chair empty, then blink and see that Pietro had returned, in a blur, with snacks or something to drink or, finally, Clint Barton.

“Oh, this is fun,” Clint said.

“Look,” Pietro said, gesturing toward the swimming pool full of Avengers.

Steve was performing workmanlike freestyle laps. Bucky was, predictably, racing him, occasionally veering left to cut him off in the lane. Tony Stark was doing a sort of sidestroke, with Sam desperately demonstrating freestyle while on dry land and occasionally shouting for Tony to turn! Try turning! Head under water!

Wanda was already a good swimmer, Pietro knew: she had done the butterfly as a child in the humid, moldy-smelling short-course pool back home. Now she alternating strokes by lap, showing up most of the others in grace. She had also somehow and without conscious control raised the temperature of the pool six degrees.

“Okay, skim the water with your fingertips,” Sam told Tony. “Let’s just focus on that. Stretch out… stay long. Fingertips on the surface of the water. Watch Pepper.”

“I was already--” Tony held onto the side of the pool and spat water. “--watching Pepper.” He pushed his goggles up onto his forehead and lounged at the end of the lane, waiting for her to approach with rapid, determined kicks and elbows lifted tightly against her body.

“Did I say you could rest?” Sam said.

“You implied it.”

“Get going. I want ten one hundreds on the two minutes.”

“I want my snorkel,” Tony said, and several moments later the named item splashed into the pool, flung with canny accuracy by Clint Barton.

Sam rubbed a hand over his forehead, then backed up and took a neat swandive into the pool himself, surfacing with the snorkel in hand. He hauled himself on shore.

“Hey,” Bucky said from across the pool, grabbing Steve by the hair and ducking his head underwater. “What’re you looking at, huh? Huh?”  


Steve spluttered.

* * *

“Five hundred thousand hits just last night,” Tony said, frowning at the holographic display. “This means war.”

“Sir, the number is now six hundred ninety-four--”

“Yeah, yeah. I was rounding. You’d be surprised at how useful the human ability to estimate is as compared to the occasionally destructive precision of machines--it’s creativity, JARVIS. Which is something that I have to say Steve’s damn video definitely seems to lack. It’s just him talking to the camera, for godsakes. No Bono backup singing… just him talking to the camera…”

“You might consider the party behind the camera, sir.”

“What? It’s Barnes. Now, admittedly he has a steady hand--I’ve got something to do with that.” Tony snorted. “Hydra technology, gimme a break. How he ever hit a target with that thing… wait, you’re saying you think it’s because they got Barnes to film the thing? Hm, it would explain the soulful way Cap looks at the camera, I mean, I wasn’t gonna say anything but it did seem to tug at more, uh, heartstrings than usual…”

“Exactly, sir. I believe it is the emotional appeal rather than the spectacle that drew attention.”

“Well, that would explain why YouTube is ruled by babies and domestic animals.” Tony took a breath. “Anyway, the success of this thing isn’t measured in hits. It’s measured in hard cold cash contributions… to charity.”

“Indeed.”

“Charity, Jarvis.”

“Do you want to know the numbers, sir?”

“I always want to know the numbers.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“God damn it. I never should have helped Barnes with his video.”

“DUM-E was quite charming in his supporting role.”’

“I guess technically if he’s raising money for my prosthetics program, I get some of the credit.”

“By that measure, you receive credit for this entire endeavor.”

“You always know what to say to make me feel better, Jarvis.”

“You programmed me this way, sir.”


End file.
